A Tale or Two
by Kate-Emma
Summary: Complete - Young Annan never gets to choose the bedtime story, the four-year-old always outnumbered by her controlling older brothers. But now she gets to pick and with all the stories, it's hard to choose which one she wants...


**Disclaimer: **Obviously I don't own LOTR. Obviously.

A Tale or Two

Annan was the smallest of four and never got her way. It was the curse of being the only girl as well. Her brothers were persistent and determined and Annan was always the first to give in. Today her father crouched beside her however and, stroking back the four-year-old's long blonde hair he looked her in the eyes.

If a father could have a favourite child, if he were allowed, he'd probably pick Annan. Men of valour, men of Gondor, were expected to have many sons and continue their family name, and so his wife had bore him, but Annan was small but fierce, in looks and style just like her mother. Just and fair, but like any other shieldmaiden of a harder time, harsh and wielding.

"Tonight is your choice of stories little one," she smiled up at him with wide eyes. "Which story would you like to hear?"

"Meriadoc the Periannath who smote the Nazgul with the sword of the Dunedain, forged in the North long ago and given to him by Tom Bombadil in the Old Forest." His youngest son, Théoden II, jumped up on his bed and thrust his arm out like he was holding a sword. "And then, as the Dark Master of ancient men fell to his knees the White Lady drove her sword through his helmet and he fell, his spirit banished from this world forever." He curled his arm over his head now and, bringing his invisible sword low, cleaved the head right off his invisible enemy.

"No no!" His middle child, Denethor, shoved his little brother good-naturedly. "The story of the great Ring-Bearer and his faithful friend Samwise the Brave. How they battled a giant spider then crawled through the dark lands, weary and burdened, until they came to the Cracks of Doom!" Denethor crawled around on the top of his bed sheets, one hand gripping an invisible sword and the other clutched to his breast. "Then how, within sight of the Dark Master Sauron, he cast the ring into the fire and saved Middle-Earth!"

Faramir smiled at his sons. "How often have you heard those stories, not just in these rooms at night but also under fair trees of Ithilien during the day?" The boys shrugged. "I do not doubt you have a favourite Boromir?"

His eldest, named after his fallen brother and in many ways like his uncle, looked up. "Of course father. My favourite story is your ride from Osgiliath with the men of Gondor and your fight back to the walls of Minas Tirith under onslaught of the Black Leader and his wicked beast." Faramir smiled at his son. "And how, when you awoke and became Steward, if only for a few days, the people on Gondor rejoiced for they knew that losing you to the Black Dart would be the worst thing to befall Gondor in it's long and proud history."

"I have not told you that story."

"Mablung told it, at my request." A voice came from the doorway and Faramir looked up into the eyes of the Fair Lady of Rohan, Lady Eowyn, princess of Ithilien. "For it's unfair to tell them of my work of the fields of Pelennor but not yours."

Faramir stood in her presence and came to her side. "A little warning would not have gone astray."

Eowyn merely gave a wry smile and then went to her son's beside, ushering him back under the covers and tucking him in. "The men of Gondor knew that if the Captain Faramir fell then the White City would fall with it. Learned in lore but as deadly as a Morgul blade, the Captain Faramir could lead his men to the very gates of Mordor and ask for death and still they would follow. But he would not do so, and nor would he leave any man behind, and as his men fell from their horses or struggled to control themselves under fear of the Nazgul, the Captain never left their side." She came next to Denethor and tucked him in tight. "He kept going back, ushering them to keep up with him, until they were all within sight of the gates of Minas Tirith and so it seemed home free." Finally she stopped beside Théoden and kissed his forehead softly as he slid down deep under the covers. "And Mithrandir came to the gate and begged Faramir to ride, for he knew what evil the brave man's passing would bring to the heart of his father, the Steward of Gondor. But Faramir was selfless," she smiled at her husband. "Nay, is still selfless, and would not go until his men were all safe. And as the last struggled in, running with weary fight but spirit held high under the guidance of noble Faramir, Mithrandir came to his side. But then, with one fell stroke, the Black Dart pierced the good Captain and he fell from his steed. The poor horse, brave only because he felt safe beneath his master, rode away into madness and the Captain was carried to the Houses of Healing by Gandalf the White."

"That's my new favourite story!" Denethor spoke up, shuffling out of his bed again. "The best part was Mithrandir coming to save the men!"

"You're silly!" Théoden protested. "It was obviously father's support of his men!"

"Boys," Eowyn smiled and came to stand between them. "You're both right."

"Mother, you're supposed to say that." Boromir said, looking at his two brothers with a blank look. "When really they're both fools."

Eowyn smiled. "Mithrandir is a great leader and your father was noble under the pressure of the situation." She left them and came to Annan. "But now it's your turn to choose the bedtime story young one."

Faramir sat on the other side of his daughter. "There are the noble friends Legolas the Elf and Gimli the Dwarf, fighters at Helm's Deep and for the land of Rohan."

"Or the scouring of the Shire at the hands of Saruman." Eowyn suggested.

"The travel through the realm of Lorien by the Fellowship of the Ring?" Denethor threw in.

"No! The fight of Boromir to save the Halflings from the Uruk-Hai at the Falls of Rauros." Boromir added.

"The King Théoden and his final battle on the plains of Pelennor." Théoden finished.

Annan shook her head slowly. "I want to know how father and mother met."

The boys groaned and turned away, talking amongst themselves, as Eowyn smiled at her husband. "That's a long story, one for another night I promise, but I can tell you what made me notice him." Eowyn caught her husband's eyes. "He was standing within the gardens of the Houses of Healing and in his eyes I saw the fear that lurked within me, that the men would not return from the gates of Morannon and that we would be alone."

"And then, as I pondered the future without them, your mother broke into my thoughts begging for an eastward-facing window." Faramir smiled, turning his eyes from Eowyn to Annan. "That I could offer her of course, but not everything she asked, and I feared she would not be content in my presence."

"And for some time I wasn't, thinking my place was as a Queen of Gondor, but then my sight cleared and I saw what the men of Gondor saw, what Mithrandir saw and what his own father saw at the end – the Captain was already a king; he did not need a crown."

"And so I asked the White Lady to marry me for I knew, from the moment I saw her sad and beautiful face that day in the garden, that I could love no one else. We would come to Ithilien after the war and in her presence the dark things would scatter and all good would rise again."

Annan smiled. "And they did?"

"And they did." Eowyn smiled. "Then the greatest of all of our treasures were born. Your brothers and then young Annan, princess of Ithilien and the most beautiful girl in the land." The child beamed. "But now she must sleep." Eowyn pulled the covers up and Annan fell into her pillows, smiling at her mother. "Goodnight sweetheart." Eowyn kissed her daughter's head.

Faramir followed, blowing out the candles, and leaving his children in the darkened room. He left and saw Eowyn waiting for him outside. "It appears my storytelling abilities have been outdone." He smiled warmly at his wife.

Eowyn shrugged with a wry smile. "I know a tale or two." Then, with a grin, she turned and strode away. Casting his eyes to the roof, Faramir followed.


End file.
